


The Mattress and the Manservant

by orphan_account



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Episode Related, Gen, M/M, Rating: PG13, episode: s2e02
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-08
Updated: 2011-08-08
Packaged: 2017-10-22 09:40:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/236674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Merlin had made his peace with destiny, and he was content to be Arthur’s servant until the day he died, but that didn’t mean it was his duty to constantly ease the arrogant prat’s conscience.<br/>This fic is the story of Merlin carrying Arthur's mattress through Camelot, as seen in S2EP02.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Mattress and the Manservant

**Author's Note:**

> This is written for [Laura](http://randomslasher.livejournal.com), who wanted a fic about Merlin being injured carrying the mattress and resulting in Arthur's guilty conscience.  
> Thanks to [Thuri](archiveofourown.org/users/Thuri/) for her support etc. She's an absolute star.

Mattresses were big and heavy. Merlin didn’t want anything big and heavy weighing him down, unless it was something important like  _destiny_. There was only one other big, heavy thing Merlin wouldn’t mind having on top of him, and that was a lovely, ample-breasted young lady. Alas, life rarely granted Merlin such an opportunity (alright, it’d never happened before, but that didn’t mean Merlin couldn’t tell whether or not he’d enjoy it).

Arthur’s mattress was big and heavy, and seemed determined to make Merlin’s life as difficult as possible -- not unlike the prince himself. If, at the start of summer, it wasn’t refusing to flip over without taking at least two expensive ornaments with it, then it’d be sprouting mysterious stains in the middle of the night. They were always in odd places, smelled funny and refused to scrub away.

On this particular night, Arthur’s mattress was flopping down to block Merlin’s vision and knocking over carts and barrels every time he turned a corner. Carrying it all the way to Gwen’s house wouldn’t have been so difficult if Merlin could’ve just used magic, but the risk of someone peeking through their window probably wasn’t worth it. Another thing that might’ve made the task a little more manageable was if Arthur hadn’t been so damn specific. If he’d simply requested ‘a mattress’, then Merlin could’ve been lugging a nice, small, perfectly comfortable  _single_ mattress down the street, rather than such an oversized wedge of dense feather and horse hair.

As Merlin turned the corner into Gwen’s street (only knocking over two buckets and making one cat cry -- a new record), he saw Arthur’s silhouette standing on the cobblestones three houses ahead of him.

An angry hiss of “Hurry  _up_ , Merlin,” drifted through the darkness. Arthur beckoned impatiently and Merlin was so pleased to be reaching the end of his journey that he grinned and took a hand off the mattress to wave cheerily at Arthur.

This was Merlin’s second mistake -- his  _first_  mistake had been taking his eyes off the very uneven, very unclean stone beneath his feet. Of course, since Merlin was the unluckiest person in the entire kingdom, at that exact moment he stepped in horse dung. His foot skidded out in front of him, making him lose his balance. The one hand clinging to the mattress (which had been unstable at best) couldn’t support the weight, and so, he let go.

For a surreal moment, everything seemed frozen. Merlin felt himself crashing through the air and he saw Arthur’s mattress teetering on it’s edge beside him. That moment didn’t last long -- it ended quickly and painfully. Merlin hit the ground arse-first, unable to move fast enough to protect his head from bouncing against the cold stone a split-second later. The mattress tipped sideways, falling flat on top of him.

“Ouch...” he groaned, his voice muffled beneath the big, heavy lump. Searing hot pain shot through Merlin’s head _and_  arse (his favourite body parts, to add insult to injury), and at the same time, a cold jolt sent shivers along his neck and spine. It was the least pleasant experience of Merlin’s highly unpleasant life.

An echo of Arthur’s voice calling “Merlin? Merlin!” reached Merlin’s ears. He kicked his foot, indicating that he was somehow still alive, and grunted loudly.

The mattress covered Merlin completely, but Arthur saw it shift slightly as Merlin moved his foot -- he hadn’t died, thank goodness. Most men could withstand a lot more than a simple slip and the force of a royal mattress against their cheek, but Merlin had considerably far to fall and he’d never looked particularly durable.

Rushing forward, Arthur cursed under his breath. He didn’t know if Merlin’s stupidity or his own thoughtless orders were more to blame. Merlin was an accident waiting to happen, so naturally the fault should be his, but a twinge of guilt twisted Arthur’s insides -- something he didn’t feel very often, and  _never_  without valid reason.

“Are you alright?” He asked urgently, wrapping his fingers underneath the mattress and pulling it up and off Merlin. Leaning it against a stall, Arthur gritted his teeth and tried not to think about the smear of smelly brown across the white fabric --  _Merlin_  could clean that later.

“On top of the world,” Merlin quipped, wincing in pain as he lifted his head. Automatically, Arthur pressed his fingers against Merlin’s chest, stopping him from moving again.

“Stay still, you’ve hit your head.”

“Oh, have I  _really_? Thanks, Arthur, I’d never have noticed!” Merlin scowled up at Arthur with his best pouty frown.

In a gesture that was so uncharacteristic it was almost physically painful, Arthur bit back his usual witty retorts and resisted the urge to smack Merlin around the noggin. Instead, he settled with a sarcastic smile and lifted Merlin’s head with a soft touch, searching for any injuries in his hopeless mop of dark hair.

“I can’t see any blood,” he muttered, pushing Merlin up a little higher. “But it’s too dark to know for sure.”

There was a sharp intake of breath from Merlin as he angled his way up into a sitting position. His arse clearly didn’t appreciate being pressed against the stones that’d just bruised it so viciously.

Arthur’s eyes clouded with concern and he pulled his fingers away from the back of Merlin’s head. “What is it?” He demanded, “What’ve you hurt?”

“My body,” Merlin grumbled, “after I was mad enough to follow your orders and carry a  _giant mattress_  all the way down here.”

He’d made his peace with destiny, and he was content to be Arthur’s servant until the day he died, but that didn’t mean it was Merlin’s duty to constantly ease the arrogant prat’s conscience. Not when the situation was entirely Arthur’s fault, and had ended up bruising Merlin’s arse and giving him a painful headache.

“Is it your back?” Arthur asked, his tone irate but still stiff with restraint. “Sometimes heat helps. Here, just let me rub--”

“No way!” Merlin leaped to his feet. His head spun and his muscles cramped a little, but at least he was safely out of Arthur’s reach (and able to flee the scene if there was any further mention of  _rubbing_ ). “I don’t want your chubby fingers prodding around my... uhm, hurts.”

There was no way he’d be discussing his sore bottom with anyone as prone to awkward sincerity and cruel taunting as Arthur sodding Pendragon.

“Chubby?” Arthur shouted, totally incredulous. “For goodness sake, Merlin, I’m trying to  _help_!”

“I think you’ve done enough,” Merlin huffed, glowering through the relative dark. He turned on his heel and marched to the far end of the mattress -- or rather, he intended to  _march_ , but instead only managed a grumpy limp.

Frowning after him, Arthur’s anger disappeared. This might sort of possibly perhaps maybe be his own fault... just a little bit. He wasn’t exactly  _upset_  because Merlin was being short with him (the lack of chatter was a nice change), but he still didn’t feel comfortable being the source of the happiest man in Camelot’s sudden foul mood.

Slowly, Arthur walked towards the other end of the mattress and helped Merlin carry it through Gwen’s door in silence. An apology was out of the question -- they’d both just have to sleep on it, and look at things afresh in the morning.


End file.
